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A “Yankee’s” Experience in Buenos Aires: New Friendships and Even More New Experiences

August 18th, 2025 by Hayden Beck

Greetings from Buenos Aires, Argentina! I wrote the majority of this all from my apartment in Palermo Hollywood, a subsection of Palermo and one of the 48 neighborhoods that make up Buenos Aires, the center of the sprawling metropolitan area that over 15 million people call home. 

Outside of my apartment complex in Palermo Hollywood

Outside of my apartment complex in Palermo Hollywood

Why Loewenstern and Argentina? Growing up in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas at the crossroads between the United States and Mexico, both the Spanish language and Mexican culture have been major aspects of my life for as long as I can remember. 

My hometown of McAllen, Texas in the Rio Grande Valley

My hometown of McAllen, Texas in the Rio Grande Valley

With majors in Spanish and Portuguese and Latin American and Latinx Studies at Rice, I eventually came to realize the consistently dominant nature of Mexican culture in my life may be limiting a more holistic understanding of both Latin American culture and the Spanish-language as a whole. Despite my countless trips to Monterrey for Rayados games and hiking or the occasional trip to Mexico City or beyond, I felt that one piece of my puzzle was lacking: South America and Central America. Argentina represented the perfect opportunity to complete this personal puzzle. With 11 weeks under my belt, I can confidently say that this is undoubtedly true.

Pre-Argentina Concerns and Expectations After spending 7 weeks at the University of Navarra in Pamplona, Navarra, Spain last summer, my sole concern leading up to my 11 weeks in Argentina was the “learning curve” that adjusting to a new dialect requires, both in terms of its new vocabulary and unique accent. In Spain, this required relearning words such as “juice” as “zumo” rather than “jugo,” for example. With the experience provided by a handful of close Argentine friends I grew up with, I knew Buenos Aires’ “Porteño” Spanish would be a different beast, from its use of local slang to its almost unbelievable speed. Despite my realistic expectations, my first week in-person at Enseñá por Argentina (ExA) featured lots of internal confusion and, at times, panic.

The main office area at Enseñá por Argentina in downtown Buenos Aires

The main office area at Enseñá por Argentina in downtown Buenos Aires

Taking on Porteño Spanish This confusion, despite processing the words themselves, stemmed directly from my lack of local vocabulary as a non-native speaker. From this first week forward, I decided to start and maintain a list of words that would ensure I could speak like a “Porteño.” Here are a couple words from my now expanded list:

Yankee = Someone/something from the U.S.

Capo = Legend/pro

Re = Very

Tipo = Guy

Mina = Girl

Boliche = Bar/club

Joda = Party

With this ever-expanding list of local vocabulary combined my unintentional adoption of the “vos” conjugation and the “Porteño” accent, from the “sh” sound produced by “ll” to its distinct melodic “sing-song” rhythm, my last couple of weeks have been filled with plenty of instances of being mistaken as a local. Looking forward toward my return to McAllen and Texas in general, I am truly bracing myself to converse in Spanish once again, a result of the ongoing Mexican-Argentine feud (an intense rivalry I only truly came to recognize over the course of my time in Buenos Aires) that will undoubtedly lead to lots of accent-related grief from my friends.

Day in the Life of a Palermo Hollywood Resident As a resident of Palermo Hollywood in the western portion of Buenos Aires, my commute to the centro occupied a large portion of each work day. Each day started with a 5 minute walk to the Ministro Carranza station, situated along the Línea D of Buenos Aires’ cleverly named Subte (short for “subterránea” in Spanish or “underground” in English). Arévalo, my charming home street, was always bustling in the morning, with plenty of dog walkers and fellow commuters walking alongside me or streaming in or out of the 5 cafes that line the 2.5 block stretch from my apartment to the Subte. 10 stops and 20 minutes then awaited me on my Subte journey that ended at the “9 de Julio” station. After pouring out of the relentlessly packed Subte car, a 3 minute walk at the blistering pace of my fellow commuters brought me past the towering Obelisco and the vigorously waving Argentine flag to the Enseñá por Argentina office. 

Me enjoying the view from my apartment's balcony

Me enjoying the view from my apartment’s balcony

View of the Buenos Aires Subte "Linea D"

View of the Buenos Aires Subte “Linea D”

At the ExA office, my day started with finding a spot at Enseñá’s massive “round table”, their coworking space that was capable of fitting nearly the entire 20+ employee team. My next step was always to search for a helpful caffeinated boost, whether that was Enseñá’s ground espresso machine or an infamous Argentine mate. Mate, a ground raw herb enjoyed communally in a specialized wooden/gourd cup (a mate) with an intricate silver/stainless steel straw (a bombilla), was often a highlight of my day at Enseñá, serving not only as a source of energy but also a fantastic community-building tool. At least 2 mates were making their way around the Enseñá office at all times. As I became accustomed to its distinctive bitter taste, I even bought my own mate to enjoy at home. Fueled and ready to go, my Enseñá work day typically consisted of short meetings in the mornings and early afternoons to review completed projects or receive new ones. Without fail, the arrival of 1:00 PM meant a group trip to Confitería Caris, our local favorite spot for to-go lunches, from milanesa to quiches of every kind, which the entire team enjoyed back at the office. With plenty of energy for the rest of the afternoon, we continued working until 6:00 PM, which marked the end of our 9-hour work day and the start of my 10-stop journey along Linea D back home to eat and decompress with anticipation for the start of a new day. 

Photo with the Enseñá por Argentina team

Group photo the Enseñá por Argentina team and Programa de Liderazgo Colectivo (PLC) fellows

My first self-prepared mate

My first self-prepared mate

Running: The Best Way to Explore Buenos Aires Such in-person work days, largely Tuesdays and Thursdays, were often far different than Enseñá’s virtual reality of Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Each virtual day provided welcome diversity in my working life: mornings spent completing and revising previously assigned projects and more-than-often free afternoons I took advantage of to explore the city. Over time, with my realization of the visual experience lost underground on the Subte and the less efficient, slower nature of walking, I came to adopt running as my favorite way of exploring a city as massive as Buenos Aires during these afternoons.

View of my favorite street in Buenos Aires: Avenida del Libertador

View of my favorite street in Buenos Aires: Avenida del Libertador

View of the Floralis Generica in the Parque Naciones Unidas in Buenos Aires' Recoleta neighborhood

View of the Floralis Generica in the Parque Naciones Unidas in Buenos Aires’ Recoleta neighborhood

View in Palermo's Jardín Botánico Carlos Thays

View in Palermo’s Jardín Botánico Carlos Thays

“Pilgrimage” to La Bombonera Perhaps the single most memorable experience was my attendance of a Boca Juniors (Argentina’s most well-known and accomplished professional soccer team, in my opinion) match at La Bombonera, their iconic stadium in the Buenos Aires neighborhood of La Boca. Despite my sworn allegiance to the Rayados de Monterrey (Club de Fútbol Monterrey) of Mexico, the opportunity to attend a match at La Bombonera was an opportunity no real football fan could ever pass up. From countless Copa Libertadores matches to Maradona’s goals, La Bombonera is arguably “football heaven.” Despite Boca’s 1-1 tie with Union Santa Fe, La Bombonera, from the fans’ relentless chants to constant jumping, did not disappoint for an instant. 

Kick-off at La Bombonera

Kick-off at La Bombonera

Boca Juniors' dedicated "hinchada"

Boca Juniors’ dedicated “hinchada”

Pre-match ceremony at La Bombonera

Pre-match ceremony at La Bombonera

Classroom Observations: The Best of ExA As I consider my work life with ExA, nothing was as rewarding and exciting of each of the observations I had the privilege of participating in. ExA’s main program, the Programa de Liderazgo Collectivo (Collective Leadership Program) consists of over 70 fellows, or teachers-in-training, who complete a 2-year fellowship with 20 weekly hours of in-person instruction within Buenos Aires’ jornada extendida program (extended school day program consisting of the reinforcement of classroom instruction outside of the classroom in community centers and beyond). With ExA, my favorite role was undoubtedly supporting different tutoras (tutors) in their observation and evaluation of different fellows using my own educational experience as a Program Assistant for the Project for the Advancement and Immersion of Refugees (PAIR) within Houston ISD (HISD), an opportunity I had on three separate occasions in the neighborhoods of Villa Urquiza and Boedo within the Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires (CABA).

Talking with students during a site visit to RiverDAR (Club Atlético River Plate's school for academy players)

Talking with students during a site visit to RiverDAR (Club Atlético River Plate’s school for academy players)

My Experience as an Honorary Tucumano Above all, nothing had a greater impact on my entire experience than the local friendships I formed over my nearly three months in Buenos Aires. As my mom told me in the weeks leading up to my departure to Buenos Aires, “there is nothing better than having contacts in a new city.” This couldn’t have been any truer. One of my childhood and current best friends, Nate, whose parents are from San Miguel de Tucumán in northwest Argentina, put me in contact with his cousins and friends from Tucumán upon my arrival. From my second week in Buenos Aires onwards, Mariano, Gonzalo, and Matias, my newest friends, invited me to absolutely everything and anything they did together, from errands to dinners and parties. I made it my mission to never turn them down. As I reflect on my time in Buenos Aires, this was the best decision I could have made: it allowed me to locally immerse myself to an extent I never foresaw. From local parrillas to neighborhoods and parks I would have never found on my own, I was able to witness the local side of Buenos Aires that I would have otherwise never known to exist. Moreover, I made lasting friends with whom I am still in contact with and plan to visit in the years to come. To Nate, Mariano, Gonzalo, Matias, and their friends, I am forever thankful. 

With many of my closest friends from Argentina (And my older brother)

With many of my closest friends from Argentina (And my older brother on the far left)

Souvenirs You Can’t Buy from Bogotá, Colombia

August 11th, 2025 by an67

In my two months in Bogotá, Colombia, I have not seen a single sunrise. The Andean Mountains stretch along the city’s eastern edge, blocking the early morning light. Still, at exactly 5:53 am, Bogotá—and its people, taxis, motorcycles, and dogs—stirs to life. (Riya and I found this out the hard way… we do not recommend living near a dog park. As cute as it sounds, spare yourself the sleep.)

Over eight weeks, I’ve been surrounded by warm locals, spectacular food, and breathtaking views. I’ve adapted to a slower rhythm than the one I knew in Dallas or Houston, a pace that lets me notice and value smaller moments. Away from Texas traffic and constant urgency, I’ve learned to find satisfaction in micro-interactions and simple pleasures to build a life centered on connection—to the people, the land, and myself.

Giving is at the heart of Bogotá.

When I landed in Bogotá after nearly 39 hours of travel, my community partner, Johan, and his spouse, Paola, picked me up close to midnight. By the next morning, I was on a TransMilenio bus to Usme, a peri-urban locality at the city’s southern edge.

As a Loewenstern Fellow, I partnered with Pontificia Universidad Javeriana’s social program PROSOFI to conduct fieldwork in Usme. My partner, Riya, and I spent hours sharing tinto and pan with older women in La Red de Huertas (“The Gardening Network”); talking with children at after-school centers; and gardening with Vigías Ambientales, high school students in their on-campus environmental program.

Part of the PROSOFI team enjoying tinto before visiting I.E.D. Nueva Esperanza!

One day, we visited Beatriz, a huertera (gardener) with peppered hair in a long braid. She spoke passionately about her garden as both sustenance and joy. After our interview, she brewed tinto and toasted bread and proudly showed us her handmade knitted purses and shampoos scented with calendula from her garden. She told us she rarely has visitors and was grateful we came to learn her story.

Here I am holding a tinto in hand. Colombia is not the place to get rid of a caffeine addiction.

This generosity was everywhere. Gardeners like Nury would hand us freshly harvested herbs, like hierbabuena, to make aromática on cold, rainy days. They gave not only food and medicinal plants, but also time, wisdom, and narrative—gifts we preserved and shared through short-form digital content so their knowledge could reach future generations.

In my life back home, I’ve often been protective of my time and attention. In Usme, I saw giving as a way of sustaining the community itself. The people I met reminded me that connection starts with something as simple as providing others with your presence and attention.

I’ve carried my lessons from Usme to Bogotá in small ways: talking for an entire flight with a stranger named Santiago about hikes and long-distance relationships; hearing the life story of an Albanian polyglot Uber driver; sharing lunch with Colombian-Americans from my hometown who invited me to visit when I return. Even across language barriers, people made time to share themselves.

Where water begins.

Our interviews also informed another project: eco-conscious workshops for Usme youth. On the way to an after-school center called El Domo, a PROSOFI team member pointed toward the nearby Sumapaz Páramo, the largest high-altitude moorland in the world. Its most iconic plant, the frailejón, absorbs rainwater and releases it slowly, guaranteeing Bogotá’s drinking water.

Frailejón

On Riya’s last day in Colombia, we hiked La Guatavita and saw the frailejón for the first time. In classrooms, we had heard students talk about it. Now, at 3,100 meters above sea level, we saw the endangered plant in person. Its survival is threatened by climate change and agricultural expansion. Climate change, for me, is no longer an abstract idea or something that happens far away—it’s the real risk that Usme youth could lose their drinking water. My daily choices—however small—are tied to their futures.

Closing reflections.

One afternoon, walking across Pontificia Universidad Javeriana’s campus, I asked Johan about his perspective on Americans. He remembered our first breakfast together, when I stood awestruck by the mountains that frame Bogotá. He said it made him notice a beauty he had stopped seeing in his daily routine.

It made me wonder: What beauty, conversations, and people do I overlook at home? My work with PROSOFI allowed me to experience a kind of sunrise–a new awakening–within myself. The environmental knowledge and relationships I’ve built here are unforgettable. Wherever I go, I hope to bring Colombia’s appreciation for life, people, and connection back with me—to my final year at Rice and beyond.

And if you’re wondering what stood out the most during my eight weeks here, it’s hard to narrow down. Colombia’s beauty revealed itself in countless ways—through people, food, landscapes, and unexpected moments. Here are a few of my favorites.

Experience my favorites for yourself.

La Cevichería

Anthony Bourdain wasn’t kidding when he included this restaurant during his visit to Cartagena, a city on the Caribbean coast. By far, they are the best muscles I have ever eaten in my whole life (condolences to my sister–your muscles will be a close second for me). Also, the Ceviche Colombiano I ordered is the most refreshing and soul-rejuvenating meal I will ever eat. Tasted like a summer break. 10000/10.

Muscles

 

Colombian Ceviche

Tejo

I figure this is the Colombian equivalent of bowling… maybe cornhole? To start, your gameboard is a clay pit with a ring lined with gunpowder. With your players, you pick up a heavy metal disc and trust that your friends are coordinated enough to not cause you any accidental harm. From there, scoring is based on whether your disc makes it into the ring or if there’s an explosion! Oh, and it’s often played with beer! 

I lost multiple rounds of Tejo against our community partner, Johan, and his spouse, Paola.

Monserrate

Besides La Guatavita, I also hiked up Monseratte, a mountain in southern Bogotá. At 6:30 am, Riya, Paola, Johan, and Martina–Johan’s 12-year-old niece–hiked up about 550 meters of slick, rocky stairs alongside me. On this Sunday morning, next to me were older adults pilgrimaging (barefoot!) up to the church built at Monserrate’s peak. Here I was, embellished in hiking gear–a $25 pair of brown waterproof hiking boots I bought from a store in the city, a Patagonia raincoat from REI, and an Oakley outdoor backpack–and my lungs and glutes burned. Bogotá is already at 2600 meters. My body hadn’t yet adjusted to the altitude, and going up another 550 meters on foot became one of the hardest things I have ever done in my 21 years. Then again, it was the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

I napped for 5 hours after this very hike.

Mojarra Frita

To honor my dad, who loves ordering fried fish when we hang out on Cozumel, Mexico’s beaches, I’ve ordered my favorite traditional Colombian platter: Mojarra Frita. Unbelievable dish. I wasn’t a seafood eater until I got here, honestly. Thanks, Dad. I didn’t recognize your game.

One big ‘ole fish with a side of limonada de coco, please!

Paloquemao Fruit Market

I have to talk about Paloquemao Fruit Market to honor my mom, a fruit fanatic. This is also one of Anthony Bourdain’s stops! Many parts of this trip, from the backyard gardens to the incredible tropical fruit I’ve tried, have made me wish my mom were here to experience it. My mom would even call me on WhatsApp and ask if I could cut some leaves to take back. Sorry, Mom, let me tell you about customs.

Paloquemao Fruit Market

Finally, a huge thank you to the Loewenstern Fellowship for making all of this possible. To Kelsey Ullom, who taught me unforgettable lessons in international service and inspired me to do hard things. To Riya for being an exceptional travel buddy, medical school application advisor, fellow foodie, and personal therapist. To Johan and Paola for providing me with the best experiences, within and outside of city limits, and for forever being by my side. To the PROSOFI team, including Blanca, Erika, Marlon, and Camilo, for being patient and encouraging while we explored Usme and executed our initiatives. For Diego for giving us the creative liberty to steer our project based on our personal interests. And finally, to Santiago’s twin brother for giving us a ride back to our apartment after we met on that flight from Medellín!

Bussin Bolivia 2025

August 5th, 2025 by Joshua Yu

Hello! Some facts about me:

Name: Josh Yu

Hometown: Sugar Land, TX (30 min drive from Rice)

Major: Psych + Cert. in Spanish (Pre-Grad)

College: Lovett

Now that the boring stuff is out of the way, let me talk about the best summer ever. This Summer 2025 I got the chance to intern abroad in Bolivia through the Loewenstern Fellowship. My organization was El Banco de Alimentos de Bolivia, the first food bank in all of Bolivia. I heard it was the best placement from previous fellows so I applied there as my first choice, and now that I’m back, I also agree it is the best placement. If you’re applying, make sure to put El Banco de Alimentos as your first choice, you will not regret it. 

Much of the food bank’s work is rescuing surplus food from factories, farmers, vendors, etc. These could be food very close to their expiration date that they no longer wanted, or produce that had a weird color or shape but was perfectly edible. The food bank essentially receives this unwanted food and gives it to beneficiaries who need it. Without the food bank doing this work, the producers and companies often would just throw out their unwanted products in the trash.

Sacks of Flour and Rice

Life in the food bank is full of adventure. Some days we would arrive at the bank at 5am, ready to ride 2 hours down south to the carrot farm to load up excess carrots (side note: these farmers are strong like for real. They don’t have very impressive physiques but I was so shocked at the weight of the bags they could hold. I managed to carry one bag but I was out the rest of the day (half joking)).

Me trying to not fall down under the weight of a carrot bag

Some days we would arrive at 4am to get ready for the 3-hour venture up the mountain (higher than 12,000 ft above sea level!) to deliver food to remote, mountainous communities filled with children (another side note: these children often never come down the mountain and much less travel so many of them have never seen an Asian person before. At first they looked at me like I was some kind of alien but then they warmed up and we had so much fun playing soccer and other games).

At the top of the mountain after delivering food

Some days we would arrive at 6am to unload a truckload of soon-to-expire yogurt or other dairy products that needed to be distributed to beneficiaries ASAP.

Us after unloading a truckload of yogurt

 

Unloading yogurt

 

Some of the many yogurts we unloaded

Some days cars and cars of beneficiaries would pile up at the front of the food bank, ready to get their food, and we would all be scrambling and running around pushing items from the coolers to the cars or pushing sacks of rice and sugar on our carts to unload to the beneficiaries. Some days a truckload of frozen raw chickens would come, and you would spend time unloading chicken. Some days we went to the composting plant.

Composting

Some days it was slower, where I had ample time to chat with the workers there and cook piquemacho (kind of like poutine) or tucumanas (kind of like empanadas) at the food bank’s kitchen (when I say cook, I mean the most I did was chopped veggies while the people who actually knew how to cook cooked). Some days we would ride to the produce vendors, asking the sellers if there was any produce they did not want that they could donate, and we would spend the afternoon moving around sacks of fruits. One day Jheysson and I spent a few hours unloading the fuel tank from the cargo truck because it was leaking, and we had the small hole welded and put it back on ourselves. Many days we went to the potato factory to pick up unwanted potato scraps that could be eaten, and the drive back always included dodging stray dogs and one time included dodging cows (who apparently are unfazed when a 2 ton truck is moving towards them).

Road with cows and dogs

 

The Food Bank’s Vehicles

The first few weeks, my AirBnB’s shower would not churn out hot water, no matter how much I tried. I eventually called the AirBnB host to get it sorted out, only to have her come with the technician and find the heater was working perfectly, only for it to stop working later when I wanted to shower after work. I finally managed to tame my shower after finding out that the heater only didn’t work at night because the night wind would blow out the flame inside the water heater (it’s a gas heater and not an electric one). Afterwards, I no longer needed to shower in either ice cold water or lukewarm water. Furthermore, the reality of the economic crisis in the country was highlighted often as our food bank friends would tell us how much more certain items cost now that the country has been in crisis for a long time. The value of USD is very high in Bolivia, especially given the crisis. 

Having come from the hustle and bustle culture of the US, it was so nice and refreshing to experience a culture that was more peaceful than what I am accustomed to back in the States. Time is a very precious commodity for North Americans and it is not readily shared. In contrast, the food bank workers graciously took us out on adventures over the weekend, such as to the “La Cancha” market or to see some festivities. I was shocked that they didn’t expect me to send them a google calendar invite to hang out (half joking) with the start and end time of the hangout perfectly planned, but instead were spontaneous about it and we only left after we all had our fill of wholesome conversation and laughter. I wonder what it is about being so busy that makes us feel so important back in the US, when in reality it’s slowly killing us. I am not shocked that anxiety is not as rampant in Bolivia as it is in the States. 

My boss, Jheysson, joked how life in the food bank is very unpredictable. And it was often very unpredictable. One day you’re eating lunch at the restaurant we always go to, another day you’re eating street food in the large cargo van after picking up sacks of donated carrots. Another day you don’t eat lunch until 4pm because it took 3 hours to drive down the mountain. While at first I was a bit uncomfortable with the spontaneity, instead used to the American work culture of carefully planned out schedules (down to the T and minute by minute g-cals appointments), I have come to appreciate spontaneity and the willingness to be flexible, because that makes life exciting! 

At the produce market

The food bank workers are like a family, often opting to spend extended time with each other outside of work. I find this humanitarian work to be very life-giving and worthwhile: the sheer number of lbs of food rescued and given to beneficiaries demonstrates this fact. I loved the close-knit, family environment that was created to help those in need.

I got to make meaningful relationships outside of the food bank as well. I attended a church pastored by a Korean missionary who ended up marrying a Bolivian wife and now has 2 kids. The family has stayed here for decades, pastoring 2 churches. The pastor preaches in the morning, then drives an hour to his other church to preach in the afternoon. They also assist and help the many needy families in the countryside of Cochabamba. They treated me with the utmost respect and love, despite not having much resources themselves. I am forever grateful for them.

The missionary church I attended

Of course, it was not all glam and glamour. On our first ride up the mountain to deliver food, we got stopped by a group who pulled a large tree trunk in the middle of the road to serve as a blockade. Blockades are not that uncommon in Bolivia, especially during this year since it was close to the election date and protests were happening. I was surprised to see them there at like 5am in the morning, but after some discussion they still wouldn’t let us through so we turned around. 

Some days the work left me so tired I couldn’t do my grad school apps or work on my senior thesis. Some days we left way later than the usual 6pm. Some days I got some chicken juice on me as we were unloading the frozen raw chicken and for some reason it really irritated me. Some days loneliness really hit me extremely hard as I isolated myself in my apartment, missing my family (the food bank workers made it a point to ensure we were never lonely which I appreciate so much, but one is bound to feel lonely at times being in a foreign country for an extended time). Originally I would get irritated when some locals would ask me where I was from and having to answer their incredulous facial expressions when I told them I was from America (I’m Chinese-American). However, I eventually let go of my easy-to-offend nature, learning that in their school books, Americans are always white and have blonde hair. Once when I was in the produce market I heard some kids yell “Japonés! Japonés” (which is Spanish for Japanese) when I’m actually Chinese, but I let it roll off after having my paradigm shift. Some days my Spanish seemed to downgrade overnight and I would stop mid-sentence, let out a frustrated vocalization of annoyance at my inability to conjugate properly or having forgotten a word. I am thankful the food bank workers never got irritated or impatient at my Spanish and always restated something when I said “no entiendo” (I don’t understand). I also got super sick in like the third week with diarrhea! It’s super easy to schedule doctor appointments in Bolivia and Jheysson (my boss who is also a certified medical doctor) helped me out so much in scheduling and anything medical-related.

Night Skyline

Of course, I need to shout out the food as Cochabamba is the gastronomic capital of Bolivia. Shout out to piquemacho, tucumanas, silpancho (big ol patty like meat with potatoes and vegetables and rice), chicharron (fried pork), anticuchos (cow heart), buñelos (fried dough), salteñas (empanadas filled with a rich meaty broth), charque (shredded dried meat) and fruits that don’t exist here in Texas (at least to my knowledge): Copoazu, Chirimoya (Custard Apple), and I promise you for some reason the mandarins and oranges in Bolivia are 10x better than the US’s. Shoutout to “el restaurante” that we would always go to during our lunch break that had the best food in all of Cochabamba (seriously it was so good I always looked forward to lunch and at my last meal there I told the cooks their food is the best in the whole city). 

Food from “El Restaurante” pt 1.

 

Food from “El Restaurante” pt 2.

 

Canela (cinnamon) and Milk Ice Cream

I never expected to use my Mandarin Chinese in Bolivia but then through one of the food bank workers I got to meet a Taiwanese-Bolivian. He immigrated here from Taiwan in his 20s and has lived here since, seeing the country change drastically from the late 20th century to now (I have never met a Taiwanese who only spoke Mandarin and Spanish! It was very exciting). 

Perla (the food bank dog) eating her treat

Through all the many ups and few downs, I am so thankful for the best summer ever in Bolivia and wish to return soon. Thank you El Banco de Alimentos, thank you Jhey, Yu, Caro, Lau, Gio, Gabi, Pio, Dannery, Doña Rosita, Pame, Nayra, Buo Buo, Ale, Azul, Pastor Kim, Pastora Erica, Jhosua, Isaias, Daniel, Ivan, Umaña. Thank you Walter Loewenstern for making this all possible, for Kelsey’s unending care and guidance, for Lizzie, my Rice travel buddy, for putting up with me for 10 weeks, thank you Neha (she was the Loe Fellow last year who went to Bolivia) who helped us out soooooo much. Finally, thank you Bolivia, I hope to return soon!

Finding Hope Through Global Community – A Second Home in São Paulo:

July 29th, 2025 by Lauren Light

I have been in São Paulo for the past two months in which I have participated in a program through Mackenzie Presbyterian University focused on developing sustainable solutions to water management within the city. The program included a variety of courses to develop our understanding of the historical and sociocultural context of Brazil along with more technical visits to build our knowledge on the social issue of water sustainability all leading up to the culminating project to address these challenges with a community-based solution. In addition to us two Rice students, various Mackenzie students also participated in the program with us and also greatly supported our experience here.

Us on Mackenzie campus the first day with the Mackenzie students that took part in the program

Us on Mackenzie campus the first day with the Mackenzie students that took part in the program

Prior to coming to São Paulo, I had only ever lived in Houston for the entire 20 years of my life and had only left the United States once for a short family trip to Taiwan many years ago. So it was safe to say that traveling to a completely different country to live for over two months where I knew no one and barely even understood the language was an extremely daunting decision to make. However, I knew that this experience would be too important to so easily give up and spend my summer sticking to my usual routine in Houston with research in the medical center followed by the long drive back to my home in Sugar Land in rush hour traffic.

My primary motivation for choosing to work with Mackenzie here in São Paulo was due to my interest in the topic of water sustainability and how that impacted the health and wellbeing of communities throughout the city. Challenges with waterway pollution and flooding along the Gulf Coast has been my primary focus for the past year while developing an Alternative Spring Break program. Therefore, I was hoping to see how this similar social issue would manifest in a city that has entirely different historical and social contexts to ultimately gain greater perspective as to how the environment impacts health and how there are different approaches to developing solutions to these challenges.

 

The construction site for the underground rain reservoir

The construction site for the underground rain reservoir

While our program with Mackenzie involved visiting many different museums to explore the significant history and beautiful art of São Paulo, one of our earlier technical visits was to a construction site that seemed to just be a large dirt pit. However, this unassuming area was actually being built into one of the many underground rain reservoirs throughout the city designed to hold thousands of cubic meters of water during large flooding events to then be slowly released into the city’s drainage system. During the visit, the managers of the project also explained that the plans for the site included building a large recreational park on top of the reservoir so that the space could still be utilized by the community. Although this flood prevention intervention is likely not directly applicable to the severe flooding we commonly face in Houston, there can still be a valuable exchange of knowledge as to what approaches are possible in the face of destructive floods plaguing both cities and only worsening as a result of climate change. 

 

 

The CETESB headquarters and one of the research labs inside that studies how pollutants affect native organisms

The CETESB headquarters and one of the research labs inside that studies how pollutants affect native organisms

Another experience that provided greater understanding of water management in São Paulo was visiting the Companhia Ambiental do Estado de São Paulo (CETESB), which serves a comparable role to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) or Texas Commission on Environmental Quality (TCEQ) in which their purpose is to monitor and enforce water quality in the state’s waterways by conducting research regarding the effects of pollutants on the health of surrounding communities. While speaking with many researchers at CETESB’s facility, it was apparent that their main priority was to communicate concerns about water quality to the public and encourage improved conditions over time to minimize the risk of harming the health of local ecosystems and people who are most often exposed to those pollutants. Learning about the work of CETESB was an insightful experience for how research efforts from government agencies can play a large part in promoting improved environmental health regulations, which is especially crucial to demonstrate back in the United States now that the scientific research division of the EPA was recently eliminated.

The sorting area of the Revira Revolta recycling collective and a group photo with us and the Mackenzie students in front of a mural inside the center

The sorting area of the Revira Revolta recycling collective and a group photo with us and the Mackenzie students in front of a mural inside the center

In addition to these technical visits, one of the most impactful visits during our program was to the Revira Volta recycling collective. This organization had a unique mission to support individuals experiencing homelessness by employing them to sort recyclable materials and then using the profits from selling the sorted materials to pay their salaries. However, even more importantly than solely providing a source of income, the recycling collective emphasized that their primary goal was to provide beneficial resources like counseling services or legal assistance to eventually allow their employees to find housing and educational or career opportunities. Meeting with this organization was an inspiring visit that demonstrated how a community-founded organization could develop such an innovative solution to substantially improve the lives of others. From my previous interactions with many similarly community-based grassroots organizations in Houston, Revira Volta further provided a broader global context as to how centering the needs of the community is most important for creating change.

Images of the Pinheiros River from the large open windows of the Santo Amaro station

Images of the Pinheiros River from the large open windows of the Santo Amaro station

Even outside of our program with Mackenzie, the challenges of waterway pollution throughout São Paulo were evident as we explored the city on our own time. When our plans to take the bus to the beach one weekend fell through once we arrived at the station and realized our passports were required to purchase a ticket, we instead rerouted to Parque Villa-Lobos through the subway system to still enjoy a sunny day outside. On the way to the park, we passed through the Santo Amaro station where we could see the joining of the Jurubatuba and Guarapiranga rivers to form the Pinheiros River, a major tributary running through the city of São Paulo. Just a few years ago, the Pinheiros River was highly contaminated with sewage wastes, and our friends here even described how a pungent smell would emanate from the water when walking nearby. However, the recently implemented Novo Rio Pinheiros program to clean up the river has drastically improved the water quality to benefit the lives of thousands throughout the city. While there is still more work to be done to continue improving the water quality, even just admiring the view while walking through the station without worrying about encountering any unsavory odors shows how protecting the health of our local waters can be such a beneficial investment. In Houston where we are similarly accustomed to polluted waters, like Buffalo Bayou or the San Jacinto River in the Greater Houston area, there should be greater incentive to take on these large scale projects to also improve our region’s waterways and therefore benefit the health and wellbeing of our community as well. 

A blurry picture of flaring in Cubatão (left) on the way back from the beautiful Santos beach (right)

A blurry picture of flaring in Cubatão (left) on the way back from the beautiful Santos beach (right)

Finally, one of the most striking similarities was pointed out to me as we were on our way to Santos beach, a little over an hour away from the city. Along the route, I was mesmerized by the endless towering green mountains stretching into the distance contrasting with the brilliant blue sky and even made the comment to one of our friends here that I appreciated the view much more than what I have accepted as the normal beach trip scenery of industrial facilities and large billboards lining the freeway to Galveston. However, as we made our way around another mountain, my friend pointed out that we were coming upon the city of Cubatão that was known for its industrial facilities. In fact, the city was even known as the “Valley of Death” in the late 20th century due to the various illnesses that arose from the looming presence of carcinogenic pollutants in the environment. Since then, the city has drastically lowered its pollutant levels by increasing regulation of industry and implementing environmental restoration programs. While there is still more work to be done to improve pollution levels in the city, I was struck by the parallel with fenceline communities throughout Houston where community members similarly face health conditions due to exposure to pollutants from the petrochemical industry. 

From the knowledge that we accumulated during our time exploring São Paulo and how water management challenges manifest, we completed our final social impact project that focused on improving basic sanitation of underserved communities in São Paulo that do not have access to sewage systems. While completing this project with our mentoring professor, one of my most memorable interactions was when he expressed how lack of basic sanitation is an issue that is likely very uncommon in Houston. But I then explained how there are many homes throughout the Houston area that are still burdened by the inadequately maintained sewage systems, which was a surprising revelation to our professor who had assumed this would not be the case in the United States. While it is unreasonable to expect us American college students to develop a solution that is entirely applicable to São Paulo, it is from these similarities of centering the voices of those who are directly affected and facilitating open discussions to push for innovative ideas from which possibilities begin to arise. 

The final presentation of our social impact project with the other Mackenzie students and professors who took part in our water sustainability program

The final presentation of our social impact project with the other Mackenzie students and professors who took part in our water sustainability program

There are most certainly distinctions between the cities that emerge from historical, political, and cultural differences, but there is no denying that vulnerable populations are most often confronted with the brunt of social injustices due to the long lasting systemic inequities that arise from a history of colonization, the institution of slavery, and continued exploitation of minority groups. While challenges to water sustainability are far from being resolved in either São Paulo or Houston, the comparison in developing solutions either through small scale community-based efforts or broader government-backed programs, provides hope that working towards a future in which we no longer experience the effects of these social issues is not impossible to envision. 

As I finish writing this blog post with only a few days left in my Loewenstern experience, I believe the final most important similarity between São Paulo and Houston is that I have found such a loving and passionately engaged community within both cities. I am overwhelmingly grateful for the many people who were immediately so welcoming of us and made sure that it never felt like I was very far from home even while nearly 5000 miles away from Houston because I ultimately found a home here in São Paulo as well. During a time when the societal divisions and distrust seem greater than ever, participating in global experiences like Loewenstern is one of the best methods for recognizing how profoundly connected we are to one another despite geographical distances or cultural differences. There is greater hope in knowing that we are bound by a shared desire to build a global community and work together towards an even more beautiful future. When I get back to Houston, I will terribly miss so many aspects of this city like the efficient public transport, scrumptious açaí bowls, impressively towering trees, and most importantly the many people with whom I have so quickly formed meaningful lasting relationships. 

One of the majestic figueira trees that can be found all around São Paulo (left), a bowl of the best açaí ever with strawberries and condensed milk toppings (middle), and an outing with our new friends here whom I deeply cherish (right)

One of the majestic figueira trees that can be found all around São Paulo (left), a bowl of the best açaí ever with strawberries and condensed milk toppings (middle), and an outing with our new friends here whom I deeply cherish (right)

My time in São Paulo will forever inform my perspectives on addressing social issues and has also allowed me to expand my connections much further than I ever could have imagined before this experience. From my heartfelt gratitude for this city and its people, I intend to come back as soon as possible. But until then, I will spend these last few days continuing my search for a capybara sighting along the city’s riverbanks. Eu te vejo logo São Paulo!! 🫶🫶

If you have absolutely any questions or want to learn more about my experience this summer, please feel free to e-mail me at lyl1000@rice.edu! 😊😊

Handshakes in Homa Bay

July 29th, 2025 by bk62

Before leaving for Kenya, we were taught a special handshake by the executive director of The Pangea Network, the non-profit organization we were interning with for the summer.

The Pangea Network is a women and youth empowerment organization operating all over Kenya and also in the US. They provide training in business, women’s rights, reproductive health, nutrition, and a variety of other topics to cooperatives of impoverished women across Kenya. After the women of the cooperative graduate from the six-month training, they are given loans from Pangea to help them develop and grow their businesses.

Ok. Back to the handshake.

The handshake involves holding the inside of your shaking hand’s elbow with your non-shaking hand and then proceeding with the handshake as normal (I have not yet mastered it). You use the handshake when you are meeting someone of high social status, say an elder or leader of some kind, and you want to demonstrate respect. On the eve of our first field visit to the Pangea cooperatives of Western Kenya, Naomi and I were practicing this novel handshake fervently, perhaps making a fool of ourselves in the office conference room. Naomi is my fellow Pangea intern and travel buddy, by the way, and is usually the other half of any time I use “we.” Anyway, we planned to use this new handshake with every Pangea cooperative member we met, in addition to just generally anyone we were introduced to. By the time we embarked on the about 8-hour drive to Homabay, a western county on the coast of Lake Victoria, I’d say our handshake game was in a pretty good spot.

The Handshake

What they do not prepare you for, when you are studiously practicing your handshake, is what to do when the other person is also using the special handshake.

However, this is exactly what happened every single time we would meet the women in the cooperatives.

I was under the impression that this handshake was kind of a one-sided affair; I mean, that’s the whole point. But now we’re both grabbing our elbows, slightly hunched over, and the kicker: we’re awfully confused. For me, I thought I was demonstrating respect to their authority and experience, and yet obviously, they thought the exact same thing.

This authority and experience of mine was certainly news to me.

Our first experience meeting the women was at a graduation ceremony for one of the cooperatives. They had just completed their six-month training and would now begin the process of applying for and receiving their loans. After the aforementioned handshakes were complete, their idea was that we would sit at the intentionally empty chairs at the front (analogous to where a commencement speaker would sit). We did not get the memo and stood around awkwardly for about five minutes trying to figure out if there was some place in the corner out of the way they considerately planned for us to observe from, or if we’d need to ask. Eventually, someone beckoned for us to sit in those guest of honor chairs, and we finally sat down. After we’d introduced ourselves and received two distinct rounds of applause from the group, the graduation proceeded wonderfully. The women gave speeches about the impact the training had on their lives, read poetry, and performed a crane dance that we were pulled into. It was so much fun, and everyone was incredibly welcoming.

A Graduating Cooperative in Homa Bay

The Gifted Chicken

The graduation concluded with lunch, where we sat next to the village chief and other elders, eating ugali (a kind of maize meal), chicken, and Managu (African Nightshade, not the poisonous kind!). I made small talk about the solar panels on their roof. After lunch, we took photos with the graduates. It seemed like everyone wanted to take a picture with just me or Naomi, with at a minimum of three different phones at once. By the fourth day of this, I think I finally learned how to smile on command. Before we left, the women were extremely generous and gifted us what seemed like endless quantities of maize, groundnuts (peanuts), fruits, and most excitingly, a chicken. The chicken currently lives at the home of Dorothy in Homabay, who is Pangea’s country director and basically our host mom in Nairobi.

When we returned to Dorothy’s house in Homabay, where we were staying, it kind of clicked for me. For the women in the cooperatives here, we were a big deal. Yet this was in complete contradiction to everything that I had thought going into the field visit. We had asked to drive all this way to meet the participants in Pangea’s programs, to interview them, to listen to their stories. It’s their successes on the Pangea website. For a moment, I tried to think of how I might have explained this point to the women we met. “Out of respect for you, I’m not going to sit in the chair that you kindly placed for me.” “Because I’m just a summer intern, I’m actually not going to be in that photo you’re trying to take with me.” “Please use a different handshake than the one you intended because you’re the important one here, not me.”

As I ran a few of these hypothetical interactions in my head, I realized that it would have been self-centered of me to tell the women of the cooperatives how they should view me. I realized that to practice empathy here and have respectful cross-cultural interactions, I needed to do my best to try to understand what my presence as a representative of Pangea from America might mean to the graduating women.

For me, it’s a privilege to visit and meet the women of the various cooperatives, and when they want a picture with me, I try to take one with everyone. It feels odd to be the guest of honor without having done anything honorable, but I’ve decided it is ok as long as I show every ounce of respect I can back.

In short, sure, I might be given a special handshake, but that is all the more reason to give the special handshake in return.

Me Wondering Where All My Giraffe Food Went

A Cool Rock and Naomi at Mount Longonot

Sunset Over Lake Victoria

Black Womanhood and Queerness in Brazil: Reflections from São Paulo

July 29th, 2025 by Ajhinae Brooks

Introduction

If you’re a minority traveling internationally, you’ve probably searched something along the lines of “is it safe to be (insert marginalized identity) in (insert location)?” Being a minority in any unfamiliar space is never easy. Especially when you don’t know how or IF your identity/identities will be accepted. This is an unfortunate, and often ignored, reality. With that being said, I am here to offer a glimpse into the life of a queer African-American woman in São Paulo, Brazil. Hopefully, this narrative will bring peace and reassurance to any minority person who is hesitant about going abroad.

Queerness in São Paulo

The first thing I noticed when I got to São Paulo was the large number of openly LGBTQIA+ couples in public. It’s not rare to see a queer couple holding hands on the subway, interlocking arms at the park, or making out in the street (like… a lot). These sights inspired me for so many reasons. Coming from a conservative state and going to university in an even more conservative state, I rarely witness such in-your-face queerness. Seeing people unapologetically true to themselves and comfortable in their own identity feels empowering.

There are also references to queer culture and LGBTQIA+ safe spaces all over the city. You can find this at places like Museu da Diversidade Sexual at República Station, which pays homage to the strength and resilience of LGBTQIA+ leaders, organizers, activists, and artists. There are streets in Consolação that are full of queer-friendly clubs, bars, restaurants, and other nightlife. There’s even graffiti throughout the city that advocates for queer liberation.

While all of these are amazing aspects of São Paulo, there is one LGBTQIA+ experience that you can’t pass up: Pride!! If you’re lucky enough to be in São Paulo during Pride month, you have to attend the WORLD’s biggest Pride parade. Having never been to a pride parade beforehand, I don’t have much to compare it to, but trust me when I say you’ll have an amazing time. There is an overwhelming feeling of joy, peace, and acceptance when you’re surrounded by over 2 million people who are down for the cause. 10/10 recommend.

While I could go on and on about how amazing Pride was and how accepted I feel here, I do feel the need to acknowledge some unfortunate truths. Although many people in São Paulo have given me the confidence and empowerment to be myself, there are many drawbacks to being LGBTQIA+ in Brazil. Violence and hate speech are always possible, no matter how progressive a place may seem. In less-urban and conservative areas, it can be unsafe to outwardly express yourself. It is important to keep in mind that Brazil has high rates of crime, especially physical violence, against LGBTQIA+ individuals. With that being said, I haven’t encountered any openly homophobic people or felt unsafe due to my queerness. While it is important to not walk around an unfamiliar place blissfully unaware, São Paulo has many safe places to offer.

Black Womanhood

I knew Brazil had a large Afro-descendant population, but I wasn’t prepared for the sheer visibility of Blackness and Black culture in everyday life. As an African-American woman, this was jarring in the best way possible. Back home, it’s not rare for me to be the only Black woman in a room. I’m used to standing out, even at times when I don’t want to. Here in São Paulo, it’s easier to blend in. I am able to establish myself as more than just the one Black woman in the room.

In São Paulo, I have been able to appreciate and reflect on my Black identity and culture in ways I had not previously considered. This is 100% influenced by my work with Soweto Organização Negra. In working with them, I have seen so many spaces committed to anti-racism work. I’ve been introduced to people and organizations that are putting in the work that I have long advocated for. From grassroots movements to cultural centers to academic seminars, I’ve been immersed in a world of Afro-Brazilian activism that I didn’t even know existed prior to coming here.

Being in these spaces has taught me so much about Brazil and myself. I’ve been exposed to the work of powerful Afro-Brazilian women who’ve led movements, created community, and shaped policy. Just like in the U.S., it’s Black women who are doing much of the labor—organizing, educating, and resisting—without always getting the institutional support they deserve. I’ve also learned about the struggles that many Afro-Brazilians face, and I’ve seen how closely related they are to the African-American experience. In learning about the lived experiences of Brazil’s Afro-descendent population, I’ve noticed how racism shows up here in unique ways, shaped by Brazil’s own history of colonization, slavery, and denial of systemic racism. These parallels and contrasts have deepened my understanding of what global Black resistance looks like.

Conclusion

Traveling as a minority is never simple. There are always questions about safety, acceptance, and whether you’ll be able to show up as your full self. While no place is perfect, my time in São Paulo has shown me that it is possible to find pockets of joy, community, and liberation—even far from home. I’ve felt seen here in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve danced in the streets at Pride, walked through museums dedicated to queer resistance, and sat in rooms full of brilliant Black thinkers and activists.

Of course, there are challenges. Violence and inequality still exist. But there is also so much beauty, resilience, and progress being made—especially by the communities most affected. If you are someone holding multiple marginalized identities and you’re thinking about going abroad, I hope this serves as a sign to take the leap. São Paulo is a city that welcomes difference. It’s a place that has pushed me to grow, made me feel powerful, and reminded me that I deserve to take up space any and everywhere. If you’re looking for a destination that embraces culture, activism, queerness, and Blackness, I wholeheartedly recommend São Paulo, Brazil.

A Pocket of Warmth: Uganda

July 29th, 2025 by Ashley Zhang

The flight from New York City to Entebbe felt surreal. Landing down on the red dirt and driving to our apartment with the green scenery flying by, felt even more so. At the end of it all, saying goodbye to the friends I’ve made and leaving a place that felt like I lived in for so long, but in reality only eight weeks, didn’t feel any more real either. In a way, it felt like my entire summer was something I dreamt up, but the knowledge, reflection, and growth I experienced was very much real. I am extremely grateful for this opportunity and the relationships I have made with my community partner, Kiyita Family Alliance for Development (KIFAD). Below are a few reflections and scattered thoughts I’ve had during my time here in Uganda, hopefully giving you a picture into my life there.

The red dirt that gets on anything and everything.

Farmland!

Identity

With the majority of my international travel in the past being to China, I could not help but compare the two experiences. I was surprised to find the amount of Chinese characters decorating walls of buildings, the sides of trucks, and people’s T-shirts in Uganda. Similarly in China, my relatives often wore T-shirts with random English words or advertisements for companies like Ford. Boda-bodas (motorcycles) in Uganda are as common as scooters in China. In both places when crossing the street, you’ll see swarms of two-wheelers weaving in and out of crowds, and you send a little prayer that you won’t be hit or lose a kneecap. The area we stayed in was rural, with many crops and farm animals just outside our apartment, reminding me of my dad’s home village. Toilets in both countries were often just a hole in the ground. In many ways, Uganda unexpectedly felt familiar.

Chinese characters on a T shirt. It reads: to walk TianFu, a 10,000 steps are needed.

“Mzungu” is a Swahili word that means foreigner or white person. Wherever we traveled, my partner fellow, Jordan, and I always stood out because of our light skin color. Children and adults alike would shout, “Mzungu! Hello mzungu!”, when they spotted us. As someone who looks Chinese, many people additionally would also shout “Hello China!”, “Ni hao”, or attempt to mimic sounds associated with Mandarin. Because of the surprising amount of Chinese people in Uganda, it was actually quite hard for many to understand I was actually from the US. Funnily, I’ve gotten guesses ranging from Japanese and Korean to Ukrainian and Singaporean. Before arriving in Uganda, I had actually read that some locals disliked Chinese people due to economic competition and exploitative working conditions. I had worried that I would be met with dislike, but interestingly enough, people often responded more positively to me being from China than from the US.

Coming from the US, it was surprising to have your racial identity constantly be acknowledged. While I knew it usually came from a place of curiosity, some days, I wished I could just blend in. On days when I felt cooped up in the apartment, I would go out running or walk around town to explore the area. I still remember the first time I did this alone, how it felt to be bombarded with attention from the moment I stepped out of the apartment till I came back. Especially when I was out of breath and bright red from a run, the last thing I wanted to be was perceived. Still, I welcomed using my identity as a way of starting conversations or building connections with strangers. I enjoyed engaging in conversation with those that would point me out and then ask me other questions, or kids that would run up excitedly and join me on my run or whatever I was doing at the moment. I hated having my race be shouted at me from a passing boda-boda zooming away or those that called out but were not interested in engaging further, leaving me with no chance to respond or connect.

Showing friends around my favorite spot to walk.

Showing friends around my favorite spot to walk.

Being a mzungu also carried assumptions about wealth and power. During our work with KIFAD, we interacted with many vulnerable communities and households. In interviews, many asked if I had brought anything for them such as money or food. While helping teach a session on stress management, many youth asked if I could personally help them out through bringing them with me back to the US. Upon hearing I was here to work with a non government organization (NGO), a waitress at a restaurant begged me to help her as well. Friends and strangers alike would request money from me. Many viewed the US as a land of opportunity and wealth, a dream they realized would be tough but nonetheless clutched preciously. These conversations and moments were difficult to navigate, and deeply reminded me of the privilege I hold and the opportunities I have been given.

International Relationships

Working with KIFAD this summer has allowed me to understand the inner workings of NGOs. KIFAD has several projects, but Jordan and I specifically worked on KIFAD’s initiative on tuberculosis (TB), examining the services and community structures they support to improve accessibility to TB care. One key service offered to all patients, no matter their reason, is drug delivery to the patient’s household. As I visited households living greater than 5 kilometers away from the main health center, which took at least a 10-20 minute boda-boda drive, drug delivery is a critical service for those that simply do not have the time, money, or strength to make that distance to receive care. This project is subcontracted under the US Agency for International Development (USAID), which recently had faced funding freezes due to US budget cuts. As a result, many of the services KIFAD offered were suspended, notably, drug delivery. During an interview, I spoke with a patient who heavily relied on drug deliveries due to their disability. In February when this service stopped, they were unable to obtain and take essential TB medications for a whole month. Before this year, I had no real understanding of USAID’s impact on other countries and the very real effect of funding cuts; however, witnessing several of these drug deliveries, as well as talking to many households that rely on this critical service, I firsthand saw the importance of funding these services and their impact on a very personal level.

In class, we discussed the often unbalanced relationships between foreign investors and local organizations. During our KIFAD orientation, I noticed the top down nature of this relationship. Foreign investors, such as USAID or IDI (an organization under USAID that manages infectious disease initiatives), would design the project plan, while local NGOs such as KIFAD, would function as implementers, with little room for revision or input. When we were asked to help write a grant proposal based on our summer research findings, it often felt like NGOs depended on direction from investors. Rather than from a grassroots level, funding up top dictated where effort and action was taken. Initiatives ended when projects ended. However, many of these projects are designed in such a way to perpetuate sustainability beyond the project end date, either by continuing the work through volunteers or increasing the knowledge capacity of involved parties. Through discussions with our direct supervisor, he explained his thoughtful approaches to addressing systemic issues at the health center, such as long diagnostic wait times or poor contact tracing, and how he ensured each intervention genuinely benefited the community. It was incredibly inspiring to see how he worked to bring sustainable change.

I appreciated how our working relationship with KIFAD was a two way street. On our last working day, we led a capacity building session to give suggestions on their youth education sessions and to teach new skills. Skills ranged from teaching how to scan, upload, and share a document to utilizing Google forms to streamline attendance taking or survey responses. Though these systems and skills seem so ubiquitous or simple to us, simply teaching them has made a difference in making work they do more efficient.

Our Project 

This summer, we worked on conducting a rapid interview based assessment on the hidden household costs of TB in the Namayumba Subcounty. In 2001, Uganda eliminated user fees at all governmental healthcare facilities to increase healthcare access and reduce household financial burden. On hearing this, I was quite surprised and even jealous when I compared that to the US healthcare system. However, due to significant under investment into the system, many households still turn to seek care at private facilities, facing major out-of-pocket costs. Beyond this, there are several other costs associated with accessing TB care due to the nature of the illness. 

Working in a foreign currency made it difficult to fully grasp the magnitude of cost for these households. Because of the language barrier, sometimes it was easy to forget how deeply personal and private these financial questions can be. As foreigners, many households also expected that we would provide financial or medical help. Throughout this interview collection process, I constantly wondered why we were conducting this research when local translators could better understand survey responses within a situational context. But KIFAD’s director often reminded us of our value as impartial third-party observers.

Observations!

There are several things or quirks I’ll miss about Uganda. First, the sounds. Although we lived in a rural area, a primary school and several farms were located right next to us. My mornings would first begin with the neighboring rooster dramatically crowing, followed by rhythmic squeaking from several crow-like birds that usually perch on our apartment roof. By 7 am, sounds of children playing and talking in class at the nearby school start to fill the air. At night, distant music, talk shows, or religious prayers play, remarkably clear despite the distance. Around 10 pm, local party music begins and honestly doesn’t stop until like 3 or 4 am in the morning (they’ve played some serious bops). Although previously disruptive, I’ve grown to fondly associate them with the soundtrack of Uganda.

Our sight on the apartment balcony. The school and people’s farms super close to us!

Our sight on the apartment balcony. We live right next to the school and various farms.

Uniquely Ugandan expressions. For example, “sweet” is used to describe anything that is delicious or good, rather than purely the taste of sweetness. I initially noticed it when someone asked me if the savory food I was eating was “sweet”, and being very confused, I explained it was savory before realizing their true question. Two phrases I most likely will continue to use in the US are “kotonda wange” or “oh my god” and “banange” which is used to express surprise or shock. Our friend who lived with us would use that all the time as we told her our stories. “Olimba-limba-limba” or “you’re lying”, is also a fun phrase to tease your friends with.

The power of boda-bodas. No task is ever too big for a boda-boda, something I quietly admire from afar. I’ve seen people carry three goats sitting on the back of one, a giant couch, and even a boda-boda on a boda-boda. The possibilities are quite limitless when it comes to carrying things on a boda-boda.

Fun boda boda rides! But always safety first with the helmets.

Fun boda-boda rides! But always safety first with the helmets.

Lastly, Uganda is a remarkably welcoming country. Bordering two countries with conflict, it has one of the most open refugee policies in the world, offering support and refugee camps for many fleeing conflict. People are also quite collaborative. If your boda-boda guy doesn’t know the way, they’ll ask for directions from other drivers, without the other drivers trying to steal you as the customer. Living in a small town, people will start to recognize you. One day, the bus driver of the primary school next to us spotted me and pulled over, offering a free lift to my apartment. I also became a regular at a nearby chapati stand. Every time they saw me, they would chuckle when I asked to buy a chapati, and would even shake their heads when they spotted me walking over from afar and they’d already ran out. With little and obscure road signs, it can be difficult to navigate an unfamiliar area. However, don’t fret! Strangers often go out of their way to give you directions, even offering to walk you to your destination to make sure you don’t get lost. More than once, strangers have helped us get a boda-boda back home, even bargaining the price down for us. Strangers will also feel your pain as theirs, saying “sorry” although they had nothing to do with the cause. For example, one time I had tripped over a curb and was met with several vendors lining the street calling out “sorry” for me.

During a visit to Makerere University, we spoke with a security guard. He wondered if people in the US were as kind and welcoming as the people in Uganda. Both Jordan and I looked at each other, then had to sadly shake our heads no. I wish we could’ve told him yes.

My last chapati in Uganda.

I will miss these chickens running around.

I will miss these chickens running around.

Saying Goodbye

The last day in Uganda felt surreal. That night, we played a local version of Uno with some friends, slowly saying our goodbyes. Boarding the plane late into the night, this whole experience almost felt like a fever dream. I still don’t think I’ve registered that I’ve come to, lived in, and left a country I barely knew a year ago. Life there had become so normal. I will definitely miss KIFAD and its incredible people, the boda-boda rides, the chapati lady across the street, and even the chickens roaming the grass. Goodbyes are hard. My time here has been marked with unexpected challenges and moments of flexibility, learning, and lots of laughter. I’ve developed a deeper appreciation for the world and the intertwining relationships that entail it. Thank you Loewenstern for this experience and opportunity. I have so many fond memories of Uganda I will forever cherish, and I hope to continue the work I’ve started there.

You’re So White

July 29th, 2025 by jra15

 

Story 1

I sat down in a taxi on its way to Kampala. It was a van that would normally have the capacity to fit around 8-9 people, but had been modified for use as a bus. And on a busy morning like today, it was not uncommon for me and my peer fellow to be number 15 and 16 on board. Frankly, I always viewed myself as an anti-claustrophobe. The huddling, the closeness, even with strangers, it calms me—it feels safe. On this particular day, I was pressed next to a lady whom, for this story, I will call Cathy. No more than 5 seconds following our departure, Cathy places her arm next to mine:

 

“You’re so white,” she says to me with a chuckle.

 

I looked over at her smiling and started smiling myself before I looked down at our arms, skin-to-skin, a human venn diagram. My arm was olive-white, hairy, with young skin, hers was deep dark, shaved, wrinkled with experience. Between our two arms, beads of sweat were beginning to form and mix—we had only spent minutes in the 110 degree vehicle. 

 

“I am!” I respond playfully, honestly unsure about what to say, but curious where the conversation may lead.

 

My skin itself a passport exposing my non-nativity to Uganda, Cathy asks me where I am from and why I was here.

 

“I am from the United States, and I came here to learn and work.” She chuckled again. 

 

I explained to her that I came here to work with an NGO in the area on an initiative to improve TB testing in the Namayumba Subcounty, to which she responded that it is very difficult to get a job in Uganda, and the competition has left many people without a livelihood. I was aware of this situation, and as an intern for an NGO I understood that I was not a direct abettor to the circumstances, but the reality never struck me as much as it did at this moment—explaining to her that a foreigner came to work in a place riddled with unemployment. So I asked her, “Please be honest, how do you feel about foreigners like me coming here to work?” I prepared for the worst, my body braced where my mind couldn’t. I eased up when instead of antagonism, I was met with nuance. She said that she appreciates collaboration when possible—particularly in the medical field. However, when she sees white doctors come to Uganda, she embraces the goal, but is regretful of the consequences.

 

“The sick only go to the white doctors. They think those doctors know more and are better trained,” Cathy lamented. For the remainder of our ride, I listened to her worries, and after a year of thinking about my role working for the NGO, I was grateful to finally hear a local perspective. I didn’t have an answer to her concerns, nor did I feel justified in even trying to offer one for a location that I had only learned about through books. I have come to understand that the best thing I can do in the meantime is to listen.

 

Story 2 

I grew up in a religious Jewish family with a father that instilled in me a respect for religion, and a mother who instilled in me a curiosity for it. Having spent a week in Uganda, I became close with a colleague, a young lady that I will call Liz. Liz was a devout Anglican Christian.

 

In the first week of our stay, I asked her if my peer fellow and I could accompany her to her local church service on Sunday. She hesitated, anticipating my request would soon reveal itself as a joke, but upon recognizing the sincerity in the question, gleefully agreed.

 

Sunday came, and I woke up at 5:30 am. My suitcase had exploded open the second I got to my room in Uganda days prior, and I decided I would wake up early that morning to iron a shirt that had become unrecognizable amidst its wrinkles. After all, I had only been to church a handful of times, and I wanted to fit in. 

 

At 7:00 am, I grabbed my motorcycle helmet, and exited the door. In my helmet I had my notebook—Liz recommended that I bring it: “You might hear something that you want to reflect on or remember later.”

 

At around 7:50 am we arrived for the 8:00 am service at St. Jude Wakiso. The building was packed, it seemed as though half the town were in one building, easily 400 people in the pews. 400 people who gathered there every day—a community, everyone knew everyone.

 

At 7:52 am I walked in with my peer fellow and Liz. As we stood beneath the decorated arched gateway, I became tense when I saw that the only open row was about halfway down the full building. I predicted the stares, there was no hiding here. Truthfully, I hesitated less when I jumped off a plane to skydive than I did that first step into the church. I just wanted to do this right.

 

Liz led the way, as 800 eyes stared upon the two “Mzungu (white)” who entered the church. I kept my gaze forward. “Am I being respectful enough?” “Am I welcome here?” “Am I invading a personal space, should I have even come?” I followed behind Liz, and as much as I tried, her body was unable to shield me from the collective gaze of a town. I felt alone in this moment, a knot in a tight-knit community simply by walking in. I cannot escape being an outsider here, my skin color shared only by my fellow peer and the man on a cross staring down at me.

 

I had two goals that morning. 1) Not stand out too much. As a white Jew in an African church, maybe I was a little ambitious. 2) Learn about how the town residents go about Sunday service. The service was entirely in Luganda, and other than the occasional “amiina (amen),” and song lyrics on the wall, it was difficult to follow. I may have misjudged my ability to blunder, however, if I thought my entrance was the most embarrassing thing that would occur that day.

 

Following the initial ceremonies, people from the front row began walking up to a box and placing their hands inside. I was well aware of church donation boxes, but since a person had previously come down the aisle requesting money, I assumed this was something different. Row by row, people emptied their seats, approached the box, and returned. I watched as it slowly became our row’s turn to get up and tried to meticulously plan what I was going to do in this mysterious, rugged box. 

 

Three people were still in front of me in line when I had a revelation.

 

“The box must have water in it, I thought. Perhaps, a ceremonial hand washing.” I was proud to have figured it out, and felt prepared for what I was going to do.

 

Two people in front of me.

“Was everyone putting their left hand in first?”

 

One person in front of me.

“No… no… it’s definitely right first.”

 

My turn…

 

Like every person before me, I reached into the box to wash my hands, until I realized that it was not water in the box, but money. I was empty handed inside a box that I assumed held cleansing water, and now had to nonchalantly act as though I was placing money inside a box or risk the shame of faking a donation. Ironically, I had actually planned to donate to the church to show my gratitude for Liz, but the thought of holding the line to sift through foreign currency, calculate the exchange rate, and choose an acceptable donation was more painful than my entrance. So I took my hand out, walked back to my seat, and hoped that among the 800 eyes watching me, not a single one noticed that I had not placed money in the bin, or worse—thought that I had stolen money from it. 

 

At no point during this whole experience did anyone ever make me feel unwelcome, it was me who did that to myself. In fact, I was treated no differently than anyone else in that building. I was respected. 

 

A young man beside me even spent the whole sermon showing me where we were up to in the day’s passages.

 

I chose to write about him in my notebook, it’s what I wanted to remember from that day.

Compassion, Growth, and Precious Differences

July 24th, 2025 by Kelsey Ullom

In 2012, as a bright-eyed and adventure-seeking undergrad, I spent a semester studying community development in Kenya. This experience played a large role in launching me into my current career of international education. I returned from Kenya thinking “everyone needs to experience this” and made it my personal and professional mission to connect young people with these global opportunities.

Then and now: Me as a student with my host mom, Sheila, and host sister, Ashley.

Our reunion 13 years later!

 

Nearly 13 years later, I returned to East Africa for the first time to meet with my students who are interning with local non-profit organizations through the Loewenstern Fellowship. As with most post-travel reflections, words fail me and I find it challenging to sum up everything I experienced, even in just one day of my site visit. This is my humble attempt to tug at some strings that are still dangling in my brain:

Compassion in the face of injustice. I met with four different non-profit organizations in East Africa – three current community partners who are hosting interns, and one potential new partner. Each is working across different social issues – female empowerment, public health, anti-human trafficking, and refugee resettlement. Their teams are different sizes, their funding sources vary, they have different projects in the works and face different challenges. But they all share the same eager and steadfast belief that we can and should help the most vulnerable among us, and that process is always better when it’s collaborative. Every community partner emphasized the guiding principles we talk about every day at the Center for Civic Leadership: Do with, not for. The communities know what they need best – listen to them. Treat each person with dignity. Mobilize. Start with strengths. Think of creative and innovative solutions as opportunities, not fixes.

The Azadi team in Nairobi, Kenya.

 

The KIFAD team in Wakiso, Uganda.

 

The Pangea Network team in Nairobi, Kenya.

One moment in particular really drove this home for me: On the day I visited Azadi, a non-profit committed to supporting survivors of human-trafficking, I sat in on their monthly “learning hour,” where each member of the team (including the kitchen and cleaning staff) engages with an article, video, or podcast about a chosen topic and discusses together. The learning topic this month was compassion, and revisioning compassion as a tool for change.

Hanging out at the Azadi office.

This topic was salient in light of the protests that happened in Nairobi just two days before. Kenya’s Gen Z is leading the charge in demanding more transparency from President Ruto and commemorating the 22 protestors who died in violent clashes with the police at a similar protest last year. This year, 10 people were known to be killed by the police on the day of the protest, but more bodies were found in the coming days. It was brutal and scary and everyone was talking about it.

So here we were, two days after this horrific event that rocked the country, cozying up on the sofas in the Azadi office, talking about compassion.

People were disheartened. They were mourning. They were angry. How on earth could they be compassionate when they saw so little compassion from their leaders? The conversation took many interesting turns. How to approach with curiosity the humans with whom we feel most at odds. How to understand a problem from a different perspective. How to employ self-compassion. How to use anger as a tool for motivation towards compassionate action. How to balance compassion with accountability. Can accountability itself be compassionate?

It was fascinating to engage in this discussion and share insights from the US. The protests in LA a few weeks prior showed many parallels. We closed the conversation not with any clear answers, but with an overwhelming sense of solidarity, community, and hope as the Azadi team then transitioned back to their work. And this was just one hour at the Azadi office.

Growth is gradual. At the risk of sounding patronizing, I really want to take a moment to emphasize just how much the students are growing through this experience. I don’t think they always realize it. It’s difficult to spot growth when it is happening to you, but the best part of my job is that I get to witness the students’ growth over time – from when they first learn about the opportunity to go abroad, then submit an application, get the pre-travel jitters as they prepare for their summer internship, and go on to do amazing things in the years after their abroad experience.

 

I got to pop in to witness what a typical day is like for these interns. I saw them haggle with taxi drivers and order meals in Swahili. I met the local friends they’ve made and went to their favorite city park. I even joined them for a morning jog with a local running club before they started the work week. I saw their office space, their apartment, their corner grocery store. But most of all, I saw their astonishing growth. I saw confidence that they wouldn’t have recognized in themselves just a few months prior. I saw intuition as they navigated complicated group dynamics and working relationships. I saw humility as they laughed at themselves when they still messed up the word for “water” even after weeks of practicing the language. I saw more openness to nuance and less tendency to jump to a clear yes or no answer. I saw them ask their supervisors thoughtful questions and saw their supervisors beam proudly when the students took the lead on something they had trained them how to do just a few short weeks ago. I tried as often as I could to point out these things I was noticing to the students, to show them that these daily habits they have grown accustomed to are new skills they may not realize they have in their toolbox now.

I also saw moments of struggle, because growth is not always a constant upward path. Just as the students reflect on their experience through blog posts and written assignments, I reflected on my time as a student 13 years ago and how I am still using skills I learned from difficult moments during that semester abroad to help guide me through my personal and professional life today, in ways I never could have imagined then.

 

Difference is precious. When I met with the US Embassy in Nairobi, I learned the term “silicon savannah” as a descriptor of the vibrant industries and entrepreneurial spirit that is booming in Kenya. It was so refreshing to not see a single Amazon delivery truck on the roads. Instead, Kenyan-born businesses reigned, like M-Pesa, a mobile money tool that was co-created in Kenya years before we were using Venmo in the states.

I marveled at so many things that were being done differently in the places I visited and thought to myself, “why aren’t we doing this in the US?”

Every country should ban plastic water bottles in public parks like Kenya.

Every country should be as welcoming to refugees as Uganda.

Every airport should have community quiet rooms like Qatar.

But not everyone does, and that’s kind of beautiful too. We are not a homogenous world, and that’s the best part.

When I returned to the US, my brother asked me if I was happy to be back. Of course I am. I am happy to be closer to my friends, have my creature comforts like oat milk again, and not have to calculate the 10+ hour time difference in my head. But I am also going to miss my new friends that I didn’t get enough time with. I’m going to miss the incredible biodiversity of the Sub-Saharan and the noisy matatus and boda bodas that fill the streets during rush hour.

Our Western form of citizenship makes us believe we belong to only one place, as it’s defined by national borders. It’s not lost on me how lucky I am to have a passport that allows me to blur that sense of belonging by traveling to far away places. It’s a privilege to have my network and international community and it takes a lot of money and time to build it. With that privilege, I want to work against the confines of categorization and hold multiple perspectives simultaneously, in my role at the CCL and in life. I can choose to hold on to bits from each of these experiences and forge a path that reflects all the light I’ve witnessed in these places and people.  

I know the partners who host Rice students also choose to do the same thing. They choose to hear new ideas at their staff meetings, take a chance on hosting a stranger in their home, and hold open arms to students from far away when the news headlines give them every reason to be cautious.

This is what I strive to create through our programs at the CCL – a sense of connection. Multiplicity. A holistic view instead of either/or and us/them. We need to reach across arbitrary borders to feel joy and pain with our fellow earth-dwellers. We need to hold our differences preciously, and in doing so, find our fundamental similarities.

CCL, Rice360, iSeed, and alumni sharing a meal in Nairobi!

Resilience, Reframed: A Month in Kenya

July 22nd, 2025 by Naomi Saenger

I’ve been thinking this week about how much my emotional state can affect my reality. Although events that are disappointing, stressful, or exciting can somewhat affect an experience, my experience really comes from how I manage my emotional response to the situation. I’m someone who definitely feels my emotions on the 1-to-10 scale, meaning that I can feel incredibly happy or deeply devastated. This translates into my emotions really ruining, or amplifying, my experiences.

When I’m back in Home or at Rice, I’ve learned how to manage my negative emotions through adapting to one of my self-care tools. It’s easy for me to adjust a bad mood by hanging out with friends, calling family, going for a long walk, swimming, getting a yummy treat, or taking a break outside. However, here in Nairobi, where pretty much everything is different and I don’t necessarily have easy access to those options, I’ve had to learn how to change my mindset and perception.

I’m currently in Kenya through the Loewenstern Fellowship, working with The Pangea Network, a nonprofit focused on women and youth empowerment.

I’ve found that a situation is relative based on so many aspects. It can depend on who you are with, whether you have been there before, or other outside events, but I think your experience is primarily your emotional response to the situation. I’ve found over the past month that if I allow myself to become stressed or frustrated, I will succumb to that emotion for hours, ruining an experience for myself. But, if I try to change my emotional response even a little, it can really transform an experience.

It’s been a month—halfway through my time here in Kenya—which has naturally prompted a lot of reflection. I’ve reflected a lot on how this experience so far has shifted my views of myself and the world. And even in that larger reflection, I’ve noticed how much my emotions can decide that perception of an entire month. How was it difficult? How was it easy? Where did I learn the most so far? What other areas can I grow in? All these questions have answers that change dramatically based on my emotions.

I’ve reflected about this idea of perception especially after interviewing women business owners of the Agroupa Mandazi Women’s group last Friday. Note that Mandazi is a type of breakfast donut popular in Kenya (see photo below).

This Mandazi is lemon flavored!

This women’s cooperative received a micro-loan and training cycle years ago before the Covid Pandemic from the Pangea Network. They still functionally operate as a cooperative, with 20-some members, in Ongata Rongai, Kenya. Ongata Rongai, or Rongai, is the county right below Nairobi, and it only takes about 30-40 minutes to drive there.

Rongai main produce market

I didn’t know how many women from the group were willing to be interviewed, but once we arrived, we learned of the 7 women who wanted to share how the Pangea Network has changed their lives. Our interviews were focused on the impact of the loan and training on the success of their business revenue and quality of life.

We really didn’t stop for a break in-between any of the interviews across Rongai, given that almost all of the women have multiple children who come home from school in the evenings. As I listened to their stories throughout the day, I was, and still am, in awe of their bravery and resilience. They spoke of their hardships, in such a way not to get pity from me, but to truly speak to their experience of starting a business. Many of them emphasized the importance of remaining hopeful. That as long as they keep believing in this idea of hope, they will continue to survive.

To hear how they still are trying to expand their business, by moving to a larger location, or investing in new equipment, to care for their families, is so inspiring. One woman I spoke to shared how she is feeding not only her three children and her sister’s children, but also her mother and very sick brother. After she shared that emotional story, she then shifted in how she wants to expand her business location and how she actively discusses women’s rights in the market she works in. Her ability to seamlessly navigate her extremely difficult challenges with her strong sense of female entrepreneurship is inspiring.

It makes me think again of perception. These women could very much be negative, angry, and depressed; it would be fair and understandable. But, they continue to be hopeful, positive, and honestly, resilient. They’ve shifted their emotions to better adapt to their experience, thus making themselves succeed.

In some ways, what these women taught me during our conversation echoed the very lesson I’ve been learning in Nairobi myself: that resilience isn’t about avoiding discomfort, but about choosing how to respond to it. While I’ve been missing familiar comforts and tools to shift my mindset, these women reminded me that hope itself is a form of emotional discipline. It isn’t a great big decision for them—it’s cultivated inthe quiet everyday decisions, daily gratitude, and mindful practices.

I hope that I can continue to carry this idea of perception with me through the next month here. I also hope to bring these lessons back with me to Rice. Especially the idea that emotional discipline and perspective shape how we experience challenge and growth, both in and out of the classroom.